


Bon Apetit

by MalloryMobius



Category: Burnt (2015)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Me fucking with English, and possibly French
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalloryMobius/pseuds/MalloryMobius
Summary: You don't kiss someome randomly and get away with it, even if you are Adam Jones.Que tu brilles enfin, terme pur de ma course !
Relationships: Tony Balerdi/Adam Jones
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> They totally love each other. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

Everything is possible at Adam Jone’s, so Tony Balerdi has been told, therefore when a ten-year-old wants a birthday cake, naturally she gets one. The chef himself takes the honor of serving his special guest and, after two minutes of intense staring contest, Helen’s daughter, no matter how reluctant she might seem, irrevocably gives in to whatever charm Adam whisks into flour and eggs. 

In some way, Tony thinks to himself, as the two dig happily through heavy cream and make an absolute scene of themselves in the middle of his spotless restaurant, everyone will eventually fall for Adam Jones a little. Diners keep coming back for the food not only because they like it. It’s also because Adam Jones’s cooking is not something you could get used to living without. Tony finds himself keep coming back to him because Adam Jones is not someone you could get used to not knowing. It’s a little sad, considering addiction means that you’ll have to excuse yourself when your best friend licks his fingers in front of you just to amuse a little girl, while you, with all your nasty grown-up fantasies, barely manages to keep your pants on imagining how it would feel to have his fingers inside you and twirl and swirl and… fuck.

*  
“I might be in love with him，Adam.” Tony tells his therapist. She doesn’t look surprised. In retrospect, maybe she has been waiting for him to say it out aloud. “Took you long enough.” Is all he gets. 

It dawns on Tony that afternoon that maybe he has been in love with Adam for some time now, ever since he walked into the Langham, when he fled for the Caribbean without a word of goodbye, back when they were at Jean Lucs’, Paris, where Adam called out his name for the first time, taunting it between courses, teasing. “Little Tony.” 

And all Tony could remember were shockingly blue eyes.

*  
“Have you eaten? I could, you know, cook you something.” Adam has asked.

It’s a tricky question. A trap. Adam has been taking advantage of him, of this chaos of a relationship, for years and Tony might never find out, but he does now. It’s a trap still. Tony resents him for it, because somewhere deep down he still believes, a bit desperately, that if they never bring the subject to light, there might still be hope. 

He stood frozen in the middle of Adam’s suite， in his own fucking hotel. The years they spent together flash by. Parties and after parties. Shattered porcelains. Burnt steaks. Downpours and neon lights. Chicks with hair like gold and cherry lips, rocking and screaming and laughing. Adam used to sneak into Jean Luc’s to make them breakfast. Sometimes he came alone, battered the window, mouthing：”Little Tony! Let me in!” And Tony scrolled through menu for today while Adam babbled about his big adventures in this small city.

He thinks of his father, all stern face but loves him all the same. It has not been his father’s standard Tony finds himself not living up to. It has been himself that he keeps disappointing. 

“You always say that everything is possible in your restaurant. But I know that not everything is possible, not this one at least. Besides, you’re not as pretty as you used to be. ” 

Thanks but no thanks. Tony has never felt so brave throughout a lifetime.  
  
*  
Something’s different with Tony, every one could sense it. He’s more confident, even more efficient than the best maître in Europe(which was himself in the first place so this is saying something), and more willing to take dominance when they have an Adam situation, which is happening more and more these days, as the Michelin assessment is around the corner. 

He grounds Adam for three days one time when the chef lets his temper out on poor David, feeding him on Burger King and Burger King only. The effect is marvelous.

*  
When Reece launches business again, Adam is the only one who’s invited. 

Tony is happier to not be with Adam in any non-office hours anyways. He lives past it, but that’s not saying it doesn’t hurt. 

“You should take someone.” He suggests to Adam, sounding like he doesn’t care and failing, “someone nice.” And he thinks about Helen. Adam apparently does. “The hell of a woman she is.”

It’s about time, Tony contemplates, judging from how the blue eyes shine, the way they will never shine for Tony, ever so glamorously. People could drown in that sea of light in Adam Jone’s eyes. 

They nurse their champagne in companionable silence for a while, and Adam says: “I think she might be the one, you know. We’re so alike.”

Among the many things they talk about, feelings are never discussed. In Paris there were always four of them, Adam, Reece, Michel, Max, inseparable and self-destructible like a suicide squad. Tony has been close but not that close. A little brother to the four. The one to watch over their heads when the night boils too high.

But they’re not in Paris. They are in London. And It’s okay to feel fragile, to be alone and destructed and start over again in London. It’s okay to live without knives in your hands.

Tony raises his drink and scrutinizes the countless pieces of himself reflected on the well-polished glass. “Then by all means, as you Americans say, go get her tiger.”

*  
Ann Marie invites herself in. 

It won’t surprise Adam if she pulls out her father’s knife and stabs him right on spot. She has every reason to do so. She doesn’t, eventually, merely telling Adam to “enjoy his dessert.”

She is, as she always has been and always will be, stunningly beautiful. Reece is so jealous good god. Little motherfucker, been after Ann Marie even before Paris, went totally nut when she told him it was not gonna happen. Adam counts it as a win. 

When he was younger, all the world’s a stage. He could dance between dames with skin like chocolate and voice like cream, charm them into bed, devour the night and savor the morning after. But it was always Ann Marie he’d come back to. She was the main course. The one who made him an addict. She never shied. He never pushed. Jean Luc never asked. Given time they would make a perfect couple, had everything not been derailed.

“That lady has the most exquisite perfume I’ve ever known.” Helen remarks when she finds him later that night.

“Yeah. She is somebody.” And he kisses her, in a seafood market at two o’clock, thinking that what happened in the past should remain there forever.

The drug dealers beg to differ.

*  
She pays for his debt. It’s her way of saying goodbye. Though Adam vows to himself that he will make it up to her. Since he’s a man of action, he says something else instead.

“Helen ain’t no desert. I’m sorry but I’ve changed my recipe. ” He means it to be in a playful way. 

“Who are you joking Adam? You never change your recipe.” She retorts.

Adam smiles and thinks about how Helen brought Ann Marie up sophisticatedly with perfumes, “Isn’t that a common problem with women? You’re so sensitive that you get threatened even when it’s over.” But Ann Marie refuses to play along. “You don’t get it, do you?” 

She explains with patience, almost taking pity on the other man. Adam stares at her, not knowing what to say. She lowers her gaze, and says quietly: “I’ve been feeling the threat even in Paris. I’m not the one you keep returning to. I’m just another desert. That’s why Reece has been so angry.” 

Holy fuck, Adam thinks, he’s made a huge mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

In Paris it took Adam three months to be allowed anywhere near knives, and another three to have access to a frying pan. He met Tony on the third day. Newbees did chores, mopping up the floor, washing up counters, cleaning behind chefs and their apprentices, all sorts of stuff. He was loading cheese into the refrigerator compartment when he overheard a conversation between two young men. 

“…Can’t even handle a steak, little rat, how come Jean Luc never blame him on any of this mess?”

“Well hello Michael Nobody meet Mr Rich As Fuck.”

They were talking about the Balerdi kid, son of famous food critic Thomas Balerdi, heir to the Langham hotel in London, the youngest in the kitchen. Here at Jean Luc‘s youth was a bless but ignorance was crime. And Balerdi came prestigious. It was even worse. He would have to work hard, harder, the hardest, to achieve the basics, and it was still not enough. Always the first to arrive and the last to leave, so pale that he’d make a convincing vampire, searing steaks at four o‘clock, sleep deprived, stubborn as hell.

“You might want to let that sit for a while.” Adam was almost freezed to death when there was finally just him and the kid left in the kitchen. 

“What would you know?” Came the pissed, quirky accent, all sharp teeth, alert like a small animal. Little rat, Adam thought, no wonder. It was kind of adorable.

The kid took Adam’s advice though. Maybe he figured he might as well give it a try. And when the steak turned out to be fine, he let out a small gasp, awed but frustrated at the same time. “One bloody year of training. Still can’t beat the janitor.”

“It‘s harder than you thought.” Adam offered helpfully. “Could I cook for you?”

“Oh whatever. Suit yourself.” 

When the steak was ready, streaks of light were starting to penetrate through the grim Parisian sky. “Am I really having steak for breakfast?” Tony smirked. He fiddled with the food while Adam watched tentatively, expectantly. “What do you think？”

For a whole five seconds Tony remained in complete silence, his eyes closed, frowning slightly. When he opened his eyes again, Adam could tell that he was enjoying it, that he was lit up by simply tasting it. “This is pretty good. Brilliant actually. More refreshing than most of what I’ve had in years. Has anyone tried it yet?”

“No. You’re the first one to give a fuck.” Adam informed him. “But what‘s the catch？”

“What do you mean？I thought I said it’s pretty good.” 

“Well it’s good, not the best. Come on, just tell me.”

“If you must know.” Tony sighed, “Goes better with Cabernet Sauvignon, to spice things up, minus the tartness.”

Now it was Adam’s turn to be awe stricken, by the kid who was leaning against the counter and stealing from the sauce pan with incredulous excitement. He made it sound so easy, like it was not a big deal to pin down the precise problem with a dish at first try, like perfection was not something worth pursuing. He simply enjoyed the food.

“Damn I knew it was the sauce.”

“Told you.” Smug.

“Look I don’t know you mate. You suck at steaks, but I’ve been observing all right? ”Adam began, reassuringly. All of a sudden, he didn’t know why he wanted to cheer the kid up so much. Gifted. Unrecognized. The underdog of the kitchen. He would hate it should a kid with such delicate ways with food were to be led astray by rumors and hate, just like himself was. “With that taste in wine, and all, you‘ll make an excellent maître.”

“And where, exactly?” Tony challenged skeptically, daring.

“In my restaurant, if you don’t mind.” Envision that. Tony Balerdi, with legacy, lowering himself to such a crude profession as to appeal to, to entertain people who might not even be able to tell quils and pigeons apart. 

He went on to become the best maître in the fucking continent. 

“Maybe you should start by actually cooking in Jean Luc’s kitchen.” Tony teased. Such a brat. Such a talking head.

“You bet.”

*  
They’ve fallen into the habit of cooking and exchanging ideas after work ever since. Tony let Adam experiment with exotic cuisines at odd hours, acquiesced to Adam’s spoiling his tastebuds, growing picky, not really caring whether Jean Luc would kick both of them out once he found out. Adam, on the other hand, continued to do wonders with food. Once he cooked to express, because there was no other way to let out the restless energy burning inside him. Cook or die. But in the privacy of Jean Luc’s kitchen at four o‘clock, cooking became an option. An alternate reality where you didn’t have to live with knives in your hands.

Tony remained the first and only person he ever cooked to impress. Into six months when he was battling with potatoes one night, Tony heard his name being called. “Little Tony.” He raised his head to see Adam in uniform，smiling triumphantly to him in the well-lit kitchen, eyes warm. He never knew that blue could make you feel that way. 

The following years staggered by in a drunk, lopsided manner. It soon became clear that Adam was the best student Jean Luc had ever had. There was no need to cook in the dark anymore. So much pressure. Yet he fulfilled those ridiculous expectations every fucking time. It was like walking on tightrope. There was no turning back. When he was not cooking, he’d be trying everything else and it was never enough.

Honestly it must have been a habitual move to have breakfast with Tony in Jean Luc’s kitchen. So at night he could use his charm to win over ladies and set fire to a bar and do drug and wonder across the city naked, in the morning he’d always come back to see Tony bending over the stove, trying out new dishes, putting him into clean clothes when he was too drunk in resignation, and he’d know that everything would be alright.

He hadn’t thought about it, that Tony was the bottom line, to make sure he didn’t fall to the ground hard and be shattered into nothing. He knew that Tony was worried about him, about this obsession with danger. Without Tony holding his back, Adam would promptly kill himself to feel alive.

They weren’t aware of this yet. Both of them. They wouldn’t be aware of this in many years. And when all the missing years came back to Adam in one swift punch, it was such an achingly bitter-sweet revelation, that he could have this life with Tony, that he, of all people, could live to thrive, not to survive. 

He starts racing, and hopes and hopes it is not too late.


	3. Chapter 3

Adam stumbles through the door of his empty suite in the Langham. He can hardly breath. He’s not thinking straight. It feels like cooking for the first time as a kid. It feels like watching that exact commercial of Paris, the city of Gastronomy on TV in the showcase of the mall. It feels like the summer when the skyline of his hometown receded from the back of a taxi window. It feels like knowing Tony for the first time. Oh. So it is love at first sight.

He wonders if Jean Luc knew about it, young love, always the wise tutor as he was. He’s let him down. He’s let so many people down. Yet the chef still wished him the best by giving him his own set of knives, which he rolls out carefully on the immaculate sheet. A piece of note catches his attention.

“Tell Tony to get them insurance. I will have you killed if they are lost.”

Then it became obvious that Jean Luc knew. Of course, he did. Just like he’s given Michael the restaurant. Reece got his maître. Adam got the knives. Just like, as they later find out, that he’d been training Tony to be a maître instead of a chef. When the puzzles fall into places it all boils down to this: he’s been training Tony for him. God he was so pissed finding out that he was not getting the restaurant, even more betrayed when Tony told him: “Adam, listen, I’m going back to London to take my father’s hotel.”, as if being slapped in the face. 

So he’d said:“Fine！Fine！You’re all leaving. I might as well kick myself out.”It was his father abandoning him all over again.

He remembered Tony looking at him, through him, scared, deeply concerned: “ It’s not my place but are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

And he’d made that promise: “I always come back intact, remember?” It was supposed to be a joke. He’d made the same promise whenever he was about to delve into the luring Paris night with the others. Tony was not laughing.

There’s been three years of waiting and pining and nearly losing hope. Then came a miracle. It was really no surprise.

He wonders how he’ll tell Tony about it，how he’s been obliviously in love with him for so many years.

Then out of nowhere Tony is walking into his room with Helen. Tony who can’t cook steaks. Tony who laughs nervously when complimented. Tony who understands people and their needs more than anybody else does. Tony who braved Europe on his own while waiting for him to come back. Tony who‘s there from the very beginning and is now here to be in the rest of his life. 

*  
“I thought this was the time you never came back.” That’s what he said.

“They were software salesmen from Birmingham.” That’s what he said.

“Now come on, laugh or something.” That’s what he said.

【I love you.】That’s what he’s never said. Between them lie the destitution of two life, trust issues, inferiority complex, whatever term the therapist suggests. He’s said everything else instead.

So why bother?

Adam takes a step and fills the gap.

*  
It feels easy，almost too easy, with Adam’s hand on the small of Tony's back, sending shivers all the way down his spine. 

Helen shakes her head. “Idiots.” She retires from the room.  
  
Suddenly Adam is all over him, wrapping around him like a soft blanket, greedy lips measuring his skin inch by inch, licking and gritting and leaving marks everywhere, the selfish bastard. 

I could have you just like this, Adam thinks, calloused hands capturing a body which trembles like wings of dragonflies at every physical contact. Relax, baby, relax. And Tony melts into him like butter，like ice, and more. He’s warm and tight and it feels just right. He loses it when Adam murmurs French at the back of his neck：“Que tu brilles enfin, terme pur de ma course !”

He’s crying, pink and petty and well-fucked into the mattress. He simply belongs. And Adam can’t help kissing the corner of his eyes and asks slyly: “Shall we do it again?”

Tony turns to look away, ears burning：“Yes… I mean no, not now. You should sleep. I need to sleep. And when I wake up, I’ll want breakfast.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #MFW I learnt about Adam-Stroke Syndrome today


End file.
